


Investigate

by AKO



Series: Detectives [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Alpha Centauri - Freeform, Black Markets, M/M, Master Spock, References to the Beatles, Slave Trade, airhead Kirk, implied BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKO/pseuds/AKO
Summary: Kirk and Spock are Starfleet; however, Kirk has never gone Command track.  Instead, he's served in Military Intelligence and now works for Starfleet's version of NCIS.  Spock used to be an instructor at Starfleet Academy, and now also works at the same place.  They are a detective team stationed on Alpha Centauri.This has the possibility of being a LONG, convoluted and extremely hilarious (at times) story!As always, I have TOS in mind when I write, but the story works just as well with Abramsverse.Fasten your seatbelts, and make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in the upright position.





	1. Recon

**Author's Note:**

> We meet Detective Kirk and Detective Spock on Alpha Centauri. Intel says there's a slave trade operating on-planet, and they have to find the players.

He sat on a tall stool at a two seat high-top table, pushing a glass of rye whiskey around in circles.  Kirk hated rye.  Tonight he was working, though, not partying and drinking, so a glass of nasty was the perfect order.

 

 

Too bad he wasn’t allowing himself a drink or two, since this was an all-male bar.  He’d done his share of cruising at unisex establishments for both kinds of partners, but one that catered to a single flavor was just not quite his style.  But the info was here, and you gotta go wherever the sources are.

 

Kirk sipped at the horrible liquor without thinking, and grimaced.  Where was Spock?

 

The two had been partnered here on Alpha Centauri for the past eighteen months.  Kirk had been working military intelligence since graduating from Starfleet Academy and finally got tired of living from a suitcase.  The dead time between assignments was brain-numbing as well, and he’d jumped at the first dirtside transfer opportunity that crossed his padd.  Being teamed up with his Academy Xenolinguistics instructor wasn’t bad news, either.  Starfleet had drooled all over itself when Spock wanted to leave teaching.  The investigative services field cashed in all their chips to snag him.  His analytical mind and computer background made him ideal for law enforcement.  So, wherever criminality intersected with Starfleet, these were the folks who dug into the dirt and put together the case for prosecution.

 

Because of the central location of Alpha Centauri, the whole planet was urbanized.  It was a combination space port/relocation center/shipping hub/media relay.  It was also a hotbed of almost every single criminal activity that any sentient being could engage in.  Order prevailed only because law enforcement was a well-established entity throughout.  To avoid duplication of efforts, Starfleet Command ran the show, as a part of Fleet Criminal Investigation Division.

 

Which all boiled down to Detective Kirk decked out in a pair of form-fitting, well-worn jeans, a blinding white T-shirt so tight it could have been painted on, and a pair of slick-bottom loafers begging to dance.  He sipped again at the awful rye whiskey, and tried to avoid the eyes glancing in his direction.  The bouncer at the entry had named him “Sweet Cheeks” when he came in, and the nickname had been echoing behind him.  He spotted a tall newcomer, and the dark hair prompted him to stand and wave.  “Spock!  Over here!”

 

Then Kirk backed to the stool and almost fell as he dropped to the seat.  Spock’s “ensemble” was the most incredible outfit he’d ever seen on anyone, man or woman.  His coworker appeared in a single piece skinsuit that had a dull, black, metallic sheen.  From a scoop neck that exposed his collarbones it stretched everyone’s imagination straight down to his knees, where it was met by a pair of knee-high, black patent leather boots, lace-up, no less, with the sharpest pointed toes and highest stiletto heels that existed anywhere in the known galaxy.  To further blind the occupants of the establishment, Spock wore a tunic that appeared to be made of iridescent smoke billowing around him and was caught by two extremely fortunate buttons closing the overlarge garment in the vicinity of his crotch.

 

Spock seated himself on the other stool, across from Kirk.  “Good evening, Jim.”  A waiter immediately appeared at his elbow, whimpering.  Spock threw his order over his shoulder, “Altarian water, citrus twist,” without breaking eye contact with Kirk.

 

“Holy living gods and goddesses, Spock!  Where in the universe did you find that getup?”

 

Spock tugged on the tunic with a forefinger and thumb.  “This old thing?”

 

Kirk snorted into his whiskey.  “You’re getting much better with your efforts to become outrageous.”

 

Nodding, Spock said, “Thank you.  In answer to your query, I went shopping this afternoon at an establishment in South City.  I discussed with the sales person the type of venue I planned to visit, and this was the suggested attire.”

 

“Spock…I’m speechless.  No…I’m flabbergasted.”

 

 

The waiter placed the water on the small table, and mumbled, “The gentlemen across the room have paid for your drink, Sir, and anything else you care to consume for the remainder of the evening.”

 

“I may have misjudged your clothing selection, Spock.”

 

The live band specialized in Earth Rock and Roll oldies, specifically, the Early Beatles.  The guys didn’t look a thing like the original Beatles, but their music was spot on.  Kirk had found that style as an adolescent, and absolutely loved the recordings.  He was actually looking forward to maybe dancing a few times during their fact-finding evening.  These plans were interrupted by the appearance of an admirer focusing on Spock.  “Nothing stronger than Altarian water?”

 

“I am on a cleanse at present.”

 

“We certainly wouldn’t want to mar with perfection, hmmm?  Dance?”

 

Kirk watched in awe as Spock entered the dance floor and began moving perfectly to “Little Child.”  The words had been slightly altered to accommodate the clientele, but it was done flawlessly and people just wanted to DANCE.  Spock tapped and rolled those amazing shoes, and moved his arms in graceful arcs to accompany the movement of his feet.  More than a few couples watched him.  Kirk accepted a dance invite from some guy who patted his flannelette-soft rump and said, “C’mon, Sweet Cheeks, can’t let them get lonely out there!”  Kirk slid nicely on the wooden floor, and kept the beat, aiming his twists and turns so he could keep absolute tabs on Spock.

 

When the music stopped, Spock continued to chat with Mister Blue Suit.  A blatant worshipper slid on his belly to Spock’s stool, and began to lick the toes of the magnificent books.  Spock gave a completely deadpan look and raised one eyebrow at the perpetrator.  “You will desist.”  He grabbed the small cocktail napkin underneath his Altarian water and careful wiped the saliva from the leather.  “Leave.”  The individual slid backward on the floor, beneath nearby tables.  Spock set the soiled item on the table in disgust.  The server reappeared like an apparition and scooped up the offending wipe, placing it down the front of his pants.  Blushing hotly, he retreated to the bar.

 

Another Spock admirer, this one in a burnt-orange unisuit tied with tassled scarves, grabbed his hand and pulled him out on the dance floor.  The band picked an old Chuck Berry tune that the Beatles had really rocked: “Roll over Beethoven.”  The beat on that song was so solid, no living being could sit still while it played.  Kirk was dancing with another when he realized people were talking and pointing and looking, and the movement around him had essentially stopped.  When he glanced over his shoulder, he realized why.

 

Spock!

 

The floor had been packed, and yet people still crushed together to clear an area.  If the place had had spotlights, one would have centered on Kirk’s detective partner.  Those damned boots!  That puffed up shirt!  Spock threw his arms out, and rocked back on the heels, precariously balancing on the needle-fine tips.  Over and over again, in time to the beat, gracefully, tenuously, and spectacularly!

 _Early in the mornin'_  
I'm a givin' you the warnin'   
Don't you step on my blue suede shoes   
Hey dittle dittle   
Gonna play my fiddle   
Ain't got nothing to lose   
Roll over Beethoven   
And tell Tchaikovsky the news   
You know he winks like a glow worm   
Dance like a spinning top   
He got a crazy partner   
Oughta see 'em really rock   
Long as he's got a dime   
The music will never stop   
Roll over Beethoven   
Roll over Beethoven   
Roll over Beethoven   
Roll over Beethoven   
Roll over Beethoven   
And dig these rhythm and blues.

 

The song ended, and the place broke into resounding applause.  Spock turned to his partner, nodded his thanks, and then sat at the high-top table.  The surface was completely covered with additional glasses of Altarian water.

 

The opening chords of the Lennon-McCartney song, “This Boy” sounded, and Kirk grabbed Spock’s hand.  “Gotta have a slow dance, c’mon.”   _Sotto voce_ , he said, “We can talk that way.”  Once on the floor, Kirk looped his hands around Spock’s neck, being careful to keep his wrists under the collar of the tunic so there was no direct skin to skin contact.    Because of the high boot heels, Spock had to lean over Kirk a bit, and he placed his hands on Kirk’s hipbones.  By turning his head, it looked like Spock was nuzzling Kirk’s neck

 

“Damn, this is almost…nice.”

 _That boy took my love away,_  
He'll regret it someday   
But this boy wants you back again.   
That boy isn't good for you,   
Though he may want you too,   
This boy wants you back again.   
Oh, and this boy could be happy,   
Just to love you, but oh my   
That boy won't be happy,   
Till he's seen you cry    
This boy wouldn't mind the pain,   
Would always feel the same,   
If this boy gets you back again.   
This boy. This boy. This boy.

 

“The contact individual in this establishment is named ‘Woody.’ He’s half-Orion, and his family deals extensively with the slave trade.  No comm link codes or electronic transmission addresses are used, all information is passed directly in real time, either at this club or the one two blocks away.”

 

“Excellent!  Now we just need to find this ‘Woody.’”  Kirk would have snickered then, but someone had burst through the line of bouncers at the door and screamed inside the foyer: “Call the cops!  Woody’s dead outside!”

 

Soon, everyone in the building crowded around a body stretched out on the pavement.  Kirk and Spock elbowed their way to the center of the crush, and crouched low.  Each scanned the deceased and the immediate vicinity for as much information as possible.  The sound of sirens approaching motivated almost all to find another place to occupy.  “Spock, please, help me up.”

 

“Certainly, Jim.”  A firm grip on Kirk’s elbow, and he was immediately on his feet. 

 

“These damned pants!  They are older than the galaxy itself, and almost threadbare.  I thought my ass was ready to break through the back pockets.”

 

Spock did not want to reveal their undercover identities to the approaching uniforms.  “I’d pay good credits to see that, Sweet Cheeks,” he growled, as he slapped Kirk’s butt to encourage him to hurry away together.

 

Once inside the flitter, Kirk banged his head against the steering apparatus in frustration.  “You may be overdoing the ‘outrageous’ just a  _hair_  too much, Spock.”

 

# # #

 

They pulled up to the Medical Examiner’s building just as the morgue vehicle unloaded at the cargo bay doors in the rear.  After greeting the night guard and submitting to retinal scans, both headed back to the dissection room.  Doctor Leonard McCoy was on duty, and signing the datapadd presented to him by the driver.

 

“Sulu, you old son-of-a-gun, what are you doing jockeying the meat wagon?”

 

The young Asian receiving the padd from McCoy looked up.  “Captain Kirk!  Fancy meeting you here, Sir!”

 

Kirk waved a hand.  “No rank, Sulu.  We’re UC.”

 

“Me, too!  I got tired of teaching hand-to-hand at the Academy!”  He turned to politely include Kirk’s companion into the conversation.  “And who you hanging with these….”

 

Sulu’s voice vanished as he recognized the other.  He pulled himself to quasi-attention and simply stared.

 

And stared.

 

Kirk watched Sulu’s face.  His complexion grew redder and redder, and his eyeballs began to bulge.  Sulu looked like an overinflated balloon ready to explode.

 

Spock finally took mercy.  “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

 

A transporter would not have been able to move Sulu from the vicinity any faster.

 

McCoy and two morgue assistants were removing the newly-deceased Woody from the carrier bag, and transferring him to an autopsy table.  He turned to pull the tray of tools closer to him, and finally caught sight of Spock.

 

McCoy’s eyes widened, and he began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.  He bent over and propped his hands on his knees to keep his balance, and he laughed and laughed some more.  With a final wheeze, he straightened up and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.  “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Three Stooges, Spock, what in the Hell is that crazy getup all about?”

 

“Good evening to you as well, Doctor.”

 

“Hey, Bones, how ya doing?” called out Kirk.

 

McCoy pried his eyes from Spock and took in Kirk.  “Holy Ishvara, Jim!  You look like some pretty boy floozy picking up businessmen in a spaceport bar.  It MUST be a full moon tonight!”

 

Kirk placed one finger under his chin and did a semi-pirouette.  ‘You like?  Spock and I had to recon a bar in South City, and I figure we should dress the part.”

 

“No, Jim.  Just…no.  Maybe you could fit in, sort of, as a hooker, but Spock here looks like he belongs on stage in some Performance Art production, off-Broadway of course.  No, make that off-off- _off_ -Broadway.  Ye gods!”

 

Kirk snarked, “Check out his boots!”

 

McCoy looked down, then grabbed the edge of the autopsy table for support, as he started laughing again.  When he stopped guffawing, he said, “You’re in the right place, Boy, because I’m sure your feet are  _killing_  you in those wicked things!”

 

“Your witty repartee is lethal enough, Doctor.  The footwear was measured to fit my precise pedal dimensions, and is actually most comfortable.”

 

McCoy brushed aside Spock’s explanation.  “If you say so.  So, you kids are here about my newest customer?”

 

“Yup,” acknowledged Kirk.  “He was involved in the slave trade operating from Alpha Centauri.”

 

“Any prelim info for me?”

 

“The gentlemen is allegedly half-Orion.”  This bit of news was from Spock.

 

“Ah, nice for some variety.  Okay, just looking at him here, he doesn’t have any obvious signs of death, seems reasonably healthy.  The straightening of the limbs appears abnormal to my seasoned eye, however.  And it’s too soon for  _rigor mortis_.  You gorgeous creatures come over here and help me turn him.”

 

“Yeah, we figure we got to him right after somebody dropped him.”

 

“Hah!  See there?”  McCoy pointed to a hole at the base of the skull, leaking blood and clear liquid.  “I’ll bet the area scans taken after he was picked up show grey matter on the ground.

 

“Bleah.”

 

“Common word around here.  I’ll have to do the complete work-up, but it looks like your friend was pithed.”

 

“Pithed?  I don’t thmell any pith.  Do you, Thpock?”

 

“Your levity is…lacking, Jim.  A narrow instrument was introduced into Mister Woody’s cranial cavity to destroy his brain stem tissues, thereby killing him.”

 

“He was probably stunned first, I’ll be on notice for stun marks.  But it’s a nice, quiet, very thorough dead.”

 

“Double Bleah.”

 

“The heels on your boots, Spock, would be ideal pithing tools.”

 

“Indeed.  Shall I submit them for evidence, Doctor?”

 

“Naw, you kids go back to your fun and games.  I’ll transmit my report when I’m finished.”

 

Acknowledging their dismissal, Spock motioned towards the door with his hand.  “Come along, Sweet Cheeks.”

 

“What?”

 

Kirk did his patented Kirk-smirk.  “Little nickname I picked up at the club tonight, Bones.”  The two of them walked to the exit.

 

“What is Spock’s nickname, then?”

 

They slipped outside as Kirk answered, “Wet Spot.”

 

McCoy collapsed on the floor in hysterical laughter.

 

“Roll Over, Beethoven” written by Chuck Berry, performed by The Beatles

“This Boy” written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, performed by The Beatles

 

 


	2. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys continue with the undercover investigative work.

The oversized, souped-up airbike pulled in front of the customizing shop, and halted.  The two riders got off together, in synchronized unison.  The left legs hit the pavement, the right legs swung over the machine, and then they walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the large bay door of the establishment.  Both were tall and lean, and completely ensconced in biking leathers. 

 

Inside, the helmets came off.  One rider was dark and solemn, one was fair and congenial.  The dark one, the taller of the two, spoke to the group within.  “We are seeking cousins of the recently-deceased Woody.”

 

A greasy man stepped forward, slapping the palm of his hand with a wrench.  “Don’t know no Woody.”

 

“Blondie-curls here is kinda cute.”  Another spoke as he came forward and moved towards Kirk.

 

Spock growled.  “That’s  _MY_  bitch.”

 

“Hey, just lookin’, not touchin’.  What’s your name, Cutie?”

 

Kirk smiled, and did a slow blink.  “I’m Bright.”

 

“Oh, yeahhhh….”

 

Spock took one step towards Kirk’s admirer.  “ _MINE._ ”

 

Kirk rolled his eyes, and winked at Spock.  Then he turned back to the second man, who had taken two steps away while cringing.  “My name is Bright Side.  My partner is Dark Side.  Call him DS.”

 

Spock considered the interloper warned, and focused back on the wrench-slapper.  “I am willing to trade to obtain information from this cousin.”

 

“So, start talking.”

 

A different individual circled wide, and sidled towards Kirk.  He finally got close enough to make a lunge, when Kirk swung around with the helmet in hand and smacked his nose.  The blow knocked the attacker bloody and unconscious.  At the same time, the first man tried to hit Spock with the wrench.  A neck pinch solved that situation.

 

Spock raised his voice, so it would carry to the back rooms.  “Now that we have our pleasantries out of the way, may I please speak to the manager?”

 

A suited Orion came forth, and looked at Spock.  “Yes?”

 

“You are related to Woody.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“I have an offer: two airbikes, which I can donate to your business here.  I shall do the electronic work to yield clean titles, and Bright has the tool to change the VIN on the parts.”

 

“Sir, we are a legitimate business here, we do custom builds and fabricate…”

 

“Two.  Airbikes.”

 

The guy thought he could outstare a Vulcan.  Ha.

 

Spock glanced at Kirk, and barely shifted his head.  The two of them turned in unison and walked in step towards the door.

 

“Wait.”

 

They pivoted back in unison.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Bring the bikes.  We’ll work something out.”

 

Spock did the staring thing again.  He’s just  _that_  good at it.  Finally, he replied, “Tomorrow.  1300 hours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for reading. As always, virtual chocolates to all who read and review!


	3. Demonstrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock "do business."

The hovertruck creaked and wobbled as it backed up to the large bay door.  With a screeching wheeze, it lowered to the pavement as the engine was shut off.  Bright Side and Dark Side exited the cab and marched into the business.

 

Kirk smiled happily at all around him.  He wore designer jeans, a skin tight white T-shirt, and a black leather vest with tassles that looked like melting icicles.  Spock wore narrow black leather pants and a zippered leather jacket, also black.  On his feet were heavy-soled engineer boots.

 

 

“The manager,” was all Spock said. 

 

From the back of the shop, the Orion came forth.  “Right on time.  You’ve got a piece of shit hovertruck.”

 

“It has never been stolen.”  The Vulcan raised one shoulder a fraction of an inch.  He then reached into his jacket pocket and keyed a remote.  The back of the truck rolled open.

 

The Orion barely managed to stifle a gasp.  There were two late-model Harley/Kawasaki airbikes inside.  “You want that information pretty bad.”

 

“Do we have an equitable transaction?”

 

An individual who had not been present the previous day decided to make a move on Kirk while the other two were discussing business.  He neared Kirk’s arm, and brushed the fringe with a finger.  It made a musical sound that was barely discernible.

 

Spock moved in a flash and grabbed the offending hand, twisting it.  “My bitch,” he growled.

 

A crunch and a scream answered it, and the man held his injured arm aloft, waving it in pain.  Everyone could see one finger hanging at an angle.

 

“Touch him again, I’ll break your hand off and feed it to you.”  Spock turned back to the Orion.  “Your answer?”

 

“Yes.  I’ll give you the information I have.”

 

“I need access to your central comm unit to clear the titles.  You may complete the paperwork yourself with whatever name you choose as the owner, and select your own date of sale.  Then after you and I speak, Bright will change the VINs on the bike parts.”

 

“I’ll code you into the system now.”  Spock was shown to a comm unit and soon had infiltrated the master database on Alpha Centauri.  While he did his electronic magic, Kirk roamed around the shop and gazed at everything.  He kept a wide-eyed wonder expression on his face, and nobody dared to interrupt him.

 

Soon, Spock stood up.  “It is finished.  You may take the bikes off-planet should you desire, the titles are completely clean.”

 

The Orion smirked.  “Come back into my office while the help unload the truck.  And don’t worry, your toy is safe from harm.”

 

Kirk fluttered his eyelashes and grinned at the remark.

 

Less than five minutes later, Spock stood beside Kirk and nodded.  Kirk took a small tool out of his pocket and walked to the bikes.  The illegal instrument used a microscopic laser to smooth over the original Vehicle Identification Number, then employed a pulse phased beam to etch a new VIN in place.  Only a laboratory scan at the molecular level could tell the number had been adulterated.  A normal hand scanner used by most dealers would read the new number as legitimate.

 

Kirk straightened up, and winked at Spock.  “All done, DS.  The bikes are legal now.”

 

Taking no leave, the two left the shop, got into their vehicle, and departed.

 

Kirk was doubled over, screaming with laughter.  “I haven’t had fun like that in a long time!”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow in reply as he maneuvered the hovertruck in traffic.  “I estimate only 43.7% of the data provided by the Orion was valid.”

 

“If that.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did you break that guy’s finger?”

 

“Negative.  It was merely a subluxation of the knuckle joint.  It has most likely reduced itself to the normal alignment by now.  He will experience minor discomfort for a day or two.”

 

“Nobody came within ten feet of me after your little demonstration.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Kirk shook his head as he looked out the window.  “How long before the titles blow up?”

 

“Less than one planetary day, unless he tries to move them into Spacedock.  Then they crash immediately.”

 

“The VINs will melt about the same time.”

 

A beeping noise emanated from the vehicle dash.  Spock looked at a display, and coded in a sequence to the pad.  “The computer worm has proved fruitful, and I now possess the hard drive dump from the entire business.”

 

“And we have a voice record of him giving you permission to the comm unit.”

 

“That is typically much tidier than going for a warrant.”

 

“Let’s find some place to eat, Spock.  Your bitch is hungry!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I have chocolate!


	4. Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I can keep up with these guys! *wink*

A black leather coat.  Words too simple to describe the magnificence of the garment Spock wore with such grace.  Form-fitting around the torso, the shoulders, the arms, then flaring from the hips almost to the ground.  A person might wonder how many animals had died to provide their skins to dress this Vulcan.

 

And then he wore those spike heeled boots with the coat.  Sigh.

 

Kirk and Spock were at Urbancenter today, in a microscopic office located in one of the most expensive highrises.  Spock was decked out in the coat and boots, Kirk was dressed in a grey uniform covered in buttons, carrying a billed cap.  He looked like an old-fashioned chauffeur.  For today’s charade, he  _was_  an old-fashioned chauffeur.

 

The airbike chop shop was no more.  Many had been arrested, even more had been “detained,” and the paperwork was still being untangled.  The two decoy bikes were back in GSA’s clandestine inventory, awaiting a new adventure.

 

For now, Kirk and Spock were back on the trail of the flesh-peddlers.

 

Their visit today was to an employment office of sorts, whereby individuals were placed in positions of servitude.  Uh, long-term placements, wink wink.

 

Spock walked up to the first desk, and stared down at the woman from his towering height atop those dangerous heels.  He had unbuttoned the coat to the waist, showing a tautly-muscled chest dusted with dark fur.  Kirk stayed a respectful distance behind, his hands crossed at the wrist in front of him, and he looked at the floor.

 

The woman tried not to drool.    “May I be of assistance, Sir?”

 

Spock placed one booted foot on the chair next to the woman’s desk, and bent over with his forearm braced on his leg.  The woman couldn’t help herself; she leaned a little bit to afford herself an angle, hopefully to see if this gorgeous creature was completely naked under that coat.

 

“Madam.”

 

The woman straightened in her chair and blushed.

 

“I wish to procure a valet.”

 

“Procure?  Sir, we are a legitimate, licensed employment…”

 

“Silence.  I need the valet.  I have non-traceable credits.  Shall I go elsewhere?”

 

“Let me get the manager for you.”

 

Spock took his foot off the chair and stood ramrod straight, looking even taller than before.  The woman left the room through a back door, never to be seen again.

 

A rotund man, with the dusky skin of a mixed race shuffled into the office, and stood before Spock.  Balding, shiny with nervous sweat, he was the epitome of obsequious.   He kept clasping and unclasping his hands in front of him.

 

Kirk tried to cover a snort with a cough.

 

Spock spoke over his shoulder in a voice cold enough to frost all the windows of the high rise.  “Do you require medical attention, James?”

 

“No, Sir, Master.  Pardon me, Master.”

 

The focus returned to the sweating little man.  “My last valet is gone.  He failed to serve me properly, and I eliminated the problem.”

 

“The aircar has a big trunk,” piped up Kirk from behind.

 

Spock waved his hand dismissively.  “Good help is so hard to find.”

 

“I’m sure we can more than fulfill any expectations you have for the right valet, Sir.  May I have your name, so we can begin our business relationship?”

 

Spock looked over his shoulder again to Kirk.  Kirk broke out in the warm, congenial smile that enchanted everyone around him, and said, “His name really  _is_  Master.  Just Master.”

 

“I see.  Well, if you would follow me, Mister Master…”

 

Spock growled.

 

Kirk piped up again, grinning even bigger.  “No, really.   _Just_  Master.”

 

The manager began to shake visibly, “Yes, well, then right this way, please…um…Master.”

 

They were led to a small parlor with a large viewscreen, several plush chairs opposite it, with a real wood, antique coffee table in front of the chairs.

 

“Would you wish for your attendant to wait elsewhere?  We have an employee lounge…”

 

Spock turned and growled, “Mine!”

 

“Yes, of course, he’s welcome to stay with you.”

 

Kirk gave another one of his blinding smiles, and fluttered the long eyelashes for full effect.  Their host blushed deeply.

 

Handing Spock a tiny datapadd, he said, “Here is the controller, the menus are onscreen.  You may see our entire…inventory…if you desire.   I will have refreshments brought in…”

 

Spock placed one booted foot on the coffee table and moved it just enough so a scraping sound was audible.  “I have no need for food or drink.  I am conducting business.”

 

“I understand.  I’ll leave you to that business, then.”

 

Once the little man departed the room and the door closed behind him, Kirk collapsed in front of a chair and pounded the seat with his fist while he sputtered in laughter.  “You missed your calling, Spock.”

 

Spock raised one eyebrow, and activated the screen.  “Let us find the connection to their network.  I will upload the worm and then we may leave.  This environment makes me nauseous.”

 

A quick reconnaissance of the room revealed the almost microscopic transmitter and receiver.  Spock pulled out his own datapadd and did his magic mojo.  As he worked, he raised an eyebrow.  “Fascinating.”

 

“What did you find?”

 

“They are engaged with a server that appears to be in Spacedock.”

 

“There are a lot of servers in Spacedock.”

 

“Not in  _this_  location.  I am backing the worm out now.  You and I shall go immediately to generate a warrant for the server.”

 

“Eh, paperwork!”  Kirk made a face.

 

“Agreed.  But the Spacedock server does look to be the proverbial Mother Lode.  Did you activate the white noise generator when we entered this room?”

 

“Actually, no.”

 

Spock’s facial expression turned to ice.  “Jim.”

 

The Kirk-smirk.  “I’m pulling your magnificently-shod leg, Spock.  I activated it when we walked into the first, dinky office.

 

“We are finished here, then.”

 

They returned to the other room, where the little man seemed to have generated even more sweat.  Arrangements were made to schedule interviews with the “merchandise.”

 

Spock turned to Kirk.  “Home, James.”

 

 


	5. Waste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely a "yuck" chapter!
> 
> Literally!

Think about it: everything in Spacedock must be brought in.  Everything.  When you’ve got massive movement of people and matériel, you automatically think of food, water, comfort, tools, cleaning supplies, energy.  If you really put some thought into it, you also realize the atmosphere must be imported as well.

 

Then if you put even more thought to the situation, you might encounter the concept that waste is going to be produced.  Society generates a lot of trash, just by existing.

 

There’s another kind of waste, too.

 

Most of us assume that type of disgusting product simply disappears.  When you’re on a big planet, you can be forgiven that attitude.

 

Spacedock is another story.  There, waste of any kind is simply another commodity.

 

Yuck.

 

And keep in mind,  _everything_  is recyclable.  Eventually.

 

# # #

 

Kirk sat across from Spock on the shuttle from Alpha Centauri to Spacedock.  He screwed up his face and said, “Yuck.”

 

“It is a normal response to distance one’s self from body waste.  It is probably both a genetic and a learned response, to facilitate longevity of the species, in order to avoid infection or contamination from the product.”

 

Kirk simply shuddered and looked out the window.

 

Spacedock was a business, actually a series of businesses which contracted through the Federation to operate in the Spacedock structure.  One business did nothing but maintain computer servers.  They were contained in a nice, tucked-away spot that was lighted and ventilated and accessible to licensed computer maintenance personnel.  All servers were registered with the Federation, and operated under specific parameters.

 

A floating server would be extremely beneficial to the criminal elements, and they tried many tricks to install unauthorized, unlicensed servers in creative ways throughout the structure.

 

Kirk was willing to bet that the Orion slave traders had moved to the very top of the list with regards to creativity.  He shuddered again, and muttered, “Yuck.”

 

All Spacedock waste, whether discarded down a recycle chute or placed in one of the many commodes available to every single traveling species, traveled in pipeworks to be deposited in tanks.  From there, it was filtered and sorted and processed and then eventually pumped into other tanks.  Bacteria would digest the sludge, and water would be removed.  Remember,  _everything_  is recycled.  The final product would then be completely incinerated, and the resulting minerals sold.

 

The clandestine servers had been installed in the pre-processing waste tanks.

 

Commodore Baris was an unpleasant man, who probably never enjoyed a happy moment in his entire life.  Kirk figured he was a colicky baby, too.  Anything which prevented “his” Spacedock from its normal function was a personal affront, and he treated it as a violation of his own sensibilities.

 

“I don’t like this, Captain Kirk, not one bit.”

 

“Again, Commodore, your like or dislike is irrelevant.  The warrant is in order, and we have the authorization to halt the waste processing and send the teams inside the tanks.”  Kirk barely suppressed another shudder.  Fortunately, there were squads of individuals comprised of species with no olfactory sense, who routinely entered the tanks for inspection and repair.  They had some fancy-pants employment designation, but ancient tradition referred to them as “honey dippers.”  “All they have to do is go in the tanks, survey the walls, and remove any non-authorized contents.  All their activities will be recorded for later review, so we don’t miss anything.”

 

“Ridiculous, Kirk.  Nobody in their right mind would stick servers in shit.”

 

Kirk squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose.  There was a headache brewing.  “Speaking of shit…”

 

Spock could tell where this was heading.  “Commodore, we are not asking permission.  With the paperwork we have presented, which you are welcome to verify, we will inspect the tanks and confiscate any unauthorized contents.  Your uncooperation can be construed as obstruction of justice.  I have no qualms whatsoever in bringing charges against you.  The entire balance you hold in the blind bank account on Risa will be necessary to defend yourself against the charges, and you  _will_  lose in court.”  The full force of Vulcan wrath through glare stopped the tirade.

 

Baris gave a dismissive wave.  “Do what you want.”  He turned on his heel and headed for his office.

 

“Ooooh, Scary Spock!  How did you find out about the bank account?”

 

“Research,” Spock answered with a raised eyebrow.

 

# # #

 

Of course the servers were found.  A lot of other unauthorized stuff was discovered in the tanks.  Stolen goods, false teeth, lots of jewelry, over a thousand wallets…and one body.

 

Spock supervised the decontamination of the servers and had them loaded onto their shuttle.  Kirk contacted the medical examiner’s office and informed them about the new customer they’d be accompanying to the morgue.  On the return trip, they sat in the same seats and talked.

 

“Bones is NOT happy.”

 

“Deceased bodies are unpleasant enough, but one produced from a waste holding tank is particularly offensive.”

 

Kirk did deadpan almost as perfectly as Spock did.

 

The body belonged to the Orion who owned the chop shop.  Kirk asked McCoy again what that stuff was in the blue jar, that they kept cramming in their noses to obliterate the horrible odor.

 

“It’s called  _Vicks VapoRub_.  Been around for a million years or more, it’s an old-fashioned remedy to soothe the discomfort of upper respiratory infections.”

 

Where do you find it?”

 

“Any pharmacy.”

 

“I’m gonna buy a bucket of it, I will probably be smelling this shit for days.”

 

“Why did you choose this line of work, anyway, Bones?”

 

“Glamour, Jim!  For the glamour!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the "yuck factor" of this chapter, you can pass on the chocolate if you want!


	6. Servitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another revolting chapter. I can only go where the Muse takes me.

Kirk and Spock returned to the “employment agency.”  Spock, in full leather regalia, stood in front of the first occupied desk, examined his fingernails, and stated only, “Manager.”

 

The obsequious little man appeared almost immediately, covered in even more sweat.  “Oh, I am so pleased to be of service to you, Mister…I beg your pardon,  _Master_.”

 

Three steps behind Spock, wearing again the faux-chauffeur uniform, Kirk fidgeted.

 

Spock continued to look at his fingernails.  “There was nothing suitable in the individuals you presented to me.”

 

Kirk whined, “You promised me an Andorian.”

 

Spock glared at the manager.

 

The man ran a finger around his too-tight shirt collar, and sweated more.   “Andorians are rather rare in this …enterprise.”

 

“I could perhaps offer a surcharge to accommodate the search for the appropriate species.”

 

Kirk giggled a little bit.

 

“Oh, well—for an extra fee, we might be able to procure an Andorian.  But it would take time, and then of course, the individual would have to be…programmed.”

 

Spock looked ready to vomit.  In reality, the implications of this specific transaction were especially sickening.  Andorians did not function well in any position of servitude, and the programming included either lobotomy or electroconvulsive destruction of brain tissue.  He waved his hand dismissively.  “I recollect you having a number or Yusrians.”

 

Kirk stuck his lower lip out in a pout.

 

“Yes, yes, yes, absolutely!  All ages and appearances, and quite a cross-section of talents, too!”

 

“Out of curiosity, why the surplus?”

 

The chubby man flipped his arms around.  “Oh, planetary politics.  So much unrest, and rulers arguing, and unpleasant living conditions, many wish to simply leave, and of course they are looking for employment.  Win-win, as we see it!”

 

Spock closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.  It would not do to have this revolting individual sense his disgust.  The so-called unpleasant living conditions included torture, starvation, and disease. “Since there is a selection, I desire a set of twins, slim build, average height, mid-to-late adolescents.”

 

“Trained as valets?”

 

“No.  I shall see to their instruction.”

 

“Oh…male or female.”

 

“Male!” Kirk interjected, bouncing a little on his toes and grinning.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow in his direction.  “James has decided.”

 

The manager quivered in excitement, and clapped his hands twice before pulling out a palm datapadd.  “I should have something in …two days.  Shall I contact you, Master?”

 

“Negative.  I will return here in two days, 1300 hours.”

 

Without another word, Kirk and Spock left the office.

 

Kirk piloted the aircar while Spock worked his datapadd.  His first comm was to Spaceport Customs, to file an alert for all immigrant Yusrians, specifically a group including a pair of identical twin adolescent boys.  All Yusrians were to be detained, with deluxe accommodations, and their travel documents scrutinized.

 

The next call was to Ambassador Sarek.  Spock informed him that Yusrian refugees were being essentially shanghaied into slavery.  The Yusrian civil war was entering its twelfth year, and the Federation was loath to intervene, but many reports of late had detailed unspeakable atrocities.  It was obvious now that desperate individuals would do anything to leave, even sell themselves to subjugation.

 

Spock ended the call and then steepled his hands in front of his face and closed his eyes.  Kirk watched him as he slowed his breathing in an attempt to purge the revulsion from his mind.  Finally he looked at his partner and said, “Let us log off duty now.   I need to remove this costume, don my meditation robe, and spend a great deal of time eliminating murder from my thoughts.”

 

Kirk placed his hand on Spock’s leg.  “I know, my friend.  Playing the giggling airhead was difficult for me.  I wanted to rip that toad into pieces.”

 

“Truthfully, I would have assisted had you done so.”

 

“Sticking those servers in shit is rather prophetic.”

 

“Indeed.  We shall start the paperwork for the warrants in the morning.  Everything must be in place by 1300, day after tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate wine to all readers is mandated, due to the depressing nature of this chapter. Reviews are not only welcome, but encouraged!


	7. Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smuggling ring is busted by our two detectives.

Two AM, Kirk’s door chime woke him from sound sleep.  He grunted to himself and tried to pull his pillow over his head, but the chime continued to ring.  Finally he threw his feet onto the floor, made sure his nether regions were adequately covered with his sleep pants, and he stumbled into the front room.

 

Opening the main door just a crack, he grumbled, “Wha?” into the darkness.  Spock nudged the door open and strode into Kirk’s apartment.

 

“Bright Side and Dark Side leave on the next shuttle to Spacedock.  The transport containing the Yusrian twins is en route, ETA 0345.”

 

Kirk became functional immediately.  “You want coffee while I shower and dress?”

 

“Tea would not be declined.”

 

Within minutes, Kirk handed Spock his cup of tea, and carried his own mug of coffee to the bedroom.  They were out the door to the shuttle complex by 0225 hours.

 

Bright Side and Dark Side entered the passenger debarkation area for the transport currently docking with Spaceport.  It was business as usual, with ticket agents, cleaning personnel, maintenance people, and a few transients providing background clutter.  Boringly normal, except every single individual at this gate was an undercover Starfleet Investigation Division officer.  Spock and Kirk carried all the paperwork necessary to facilitate the bust of one of the biggest sentient being smuggling rings in this sector.  Their UC personas were in place: Spock was the haughty, indifferent front person of the criminal duo, Kirk was the vacant-eyed airhead who provided Spock with “entertainment.”

 

Once the airlock pressurized, the supervisor of this shipment entered the Spacedock and yelled back to the others: “Order!  If you cannot follow instructions, the captain is instructed to take you back to Yusria!”  He waved his datapadd in emphasis.  “I am aware you need food and comfort items.  Just wait a little bit longer!”  He turned to the Spaceport agent at the entryway and shook his head.  “Animals!  They may walk upright and talk, but they are  _animals_!”

 

Kirk and Spock marched in step rapidly to the supervisor and stopped just short of violating his personal space.  Kirk hit him with the blinding smile and blinking eyelashes.  Spock looked bored.  “I’m Bright,” Kirk cooed.  He fluttered eyelashes again.  “Bright Side.  This is my partner, Dark Side.  You can call him DS.”  He looked down coquettishly, and took a step back.

 

Spock exhaled loudly, and waited, one, two, three heartbeats.  Human heartbeats, that is.  He finally made eye contact with the individual, and said with disdain, “The adolescent twin boys.  I am taking custody of them here.”

 

“Hey, Buddy, I’ve just finished a rough flight.  I don’t know who you think you are, Mister—“

  
  
Kirk got huffy.  “I  _told_  you, his name is Dark Side.  You can call him DS.”

 

“Okay, whatever, Mister DS—“

 

Spock snarled.

 

Kirk rolled his eyes.  “Nobody pays attention these days!  Just DS.   _Only_  DS.  Got it?”

 

The supervisor threw up his hands in frustration.  “Whoever the Hell you are, DS, unless prior arrangements are made—“

 

Spock got so close, the toes of his engineer boots bumped up against the footwear of the supervisor.  His nose was not even a millimeter from the other individual’s nose.  His eyes shot bolts of heat lightning into the face of the now-terrified man.  “Update.  Your.  Padd.”  Spock then strode away to one of the viewports and looked out, ignoring everyone.

 

Kirk giggled and shrugged.

 

The supervisor tapped a few times on his datapadd and blushed hotly.  “I am so sorry, you are correct.  There must have been a lag time in my paperwork…”

 

Kirk interrupted, with more eyelash flutters.  “Better hurry.  When he gets upset, he starts throwing furniture.  Then he throws people.  Few survive.”

 

Moments later, the man returned, dragging two filthy, nearly naked boys, who held onto each other and shook in fear from head to toe.

 

Kirk closed his eyes.  Those kids could not be even eight Standard years of age.  He looked towards Spock and called, “DS.  It’s go.”

 

Everybody moved.  The takedown took minutes.  The refugees were met by Federation Social Services and escorted to quarters where they could receive showers, food, clothing, and any medical assistance.  Counselors and legal advisors would be provided to them.  Kirk himself spent a few moments to offer words of comfort to the two boys, and tried to reassure them they were now among friends.

 

As the perpetrators of the smuggling group were restrained and being moved to shuttles which would carry them to detention facilities to await arraignment and trial, the supervisor stopped in front of Kirk and Spock.

 

“I still don’t understand what’s going on here!  I’m a businessman, I contract with a licensed employment agency.”

 

“You’re busted.  It’s over,” Kirk said.  No blinding smile this time; his demeanor had changed to that of a competent professional.  He graced this scum with his patented Kirk-smirk.

 

“Just  _who_  are you?”

 

“I told you, Pal, I’m Bright.  In actuality, I’m brighter than I look.  Both of us are Federation Law Enforcement: we’re cops.  And you’re busted.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peach brandy and Ferrero Rocher candies for all readers.
> 
> (those are AWESOME together, try it!)


	8. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion!

Everybody was in the largest courtroom on Alpha Centauri.  There were almost as many members of the press as there were defendants.  And the attorneys outnumbered them all.

 

This was just the preliminary hearing.  Folks were expecting a show, and they probably were going to get a doozy.  With quite a bit of pushing and shoving and cussing in several languages, the innocent-until-found-guilty-as-shit were shuffled into place on their side of the courtroom.  Their lawyers broke into groups: some to sit with the defendants, others to wait on the opposite side of the court rail to be called.  It looked like it was fleshing out to be a legal-tag-team game today.

 

The prosecutor was a Tellerite.  They made great district attorneys, especially when it came time to plea bargain.  When a Tellerite snarls, “I eat vermin like you for lunch,” he or she is telling Gospel truth.

 

“All Rise!” the bailiff called.

 

Chairs scraped and bumped and a few fell over.  The judge entered the courtroom and took her seat behind the bench.

 

If the Tellerite DA looked fierce, this judge looked  _lethal._

The chief defense attorney bowed his head.  He played out several begging conversations in his mind, where he’d whine and cry to the defendants to accept a plea—ANY plea.

 

“The Honorable Nyota Uhura presiding.  Court is now in session.”

 

Hundreds of words later, the prosecutor called in the detectives responsible for assembling this case.  Kirk and Spock entered the courtroom in Starfleet formal dress whites.  The fabric of their uniforms seemed whiter than white, almost to the point of glowing.  Kirk, with his golden good looks, appeared ethereal.  Spock was turn-your-knees-to-rubber magnificent.  They passed through the court rail and stood next to the prosecutor’s table.

 

Turmoil broke loose at the defense table.  Judge Uhura banged her gavel and frowned.  “Counsel!  Control your clients,  _now_!”

 

Heated murmuring occurred.  Finally the chief counsel raised his head to the judge and shrugged.  “Your Honor, my clients are insisting that per their native worlds’ legal process, they must be allowed to face their accusers.  And they are insisting they have never seen these individuals standing at the prosecutor’s table before, ever.  They are demanding all charges be dropped.”

 

The handsome woman seated at the bench scowled, and wiped her face with her hand.  “Counsel, as you yourself well know, anyone who transacts business, resides, passes through, or in any way, shape, or form uses the facilities of Alpha Centauri and its Spacedock are under the jurisdiction of Federation law.  This is not up for debate.  Owing to the depraved nature of the crimes charged and the seriousness of the punishment if convicted, though, I will allow minor accommodation to the outworld citizens’ legal process, only as far as there is no conflict with Federation proceedings.  Any, and I want to emphasize  _any_  conflict will be resolved by me in favor of Federation law.  And I’m telling you right now, for the record, and for posterity, this accommodation will not be fodder for appeal.

 

“Do.  You.  Understand?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor, and my clients express their extreme gratitude.”

 

“Make sure your clients understand.  Any more outburst, disruption, or nonsense, and I will have the offenders restrained and removed, to view the proceedings via closed circuit.”

 

“Yes, Your Honor.  Understood completely , Your Honor.  Thank you, Your Honor.”

 

“Now, shut up.”  She pointed the gavel at the Tellerite.  “Continue.”

 

The prosecutor conferred briefly with Kirk and Spock.  “Your Honor, in a desire to ease the relations with the defendants and their need to ‘confront their accusers,’ my two witnesses for the Federation need a moment to prepare.

 

“It’s going to be a long, long day,” the judge muttered.  She rapped the gavel.  “Recess for five minutes.”  Glaring at the prosecutor, she added, “Or less.”  After banging the gavel again, she turned to the bailiff.  “Get me the biggest bottle of headache medication in my office, and a glass of water.”

 

Before the bailiff could return from her errand for the judge, Spock and Kirk re-entered the courtroom in completely different attire.  Kirk wore the skin-tight T-shirt, the black leather vest with “icicle” fringe, and designer jeans.  Spock had on the black leather jacket, unzipped enough to show nothing underneath, form-fitting black leather pants, and kick-your-ass engineer boots.  Kirk’s hair was fetchingly mussed, Spock had parted his bangs on the side and combed that dark fringe away from his face.

 

There was dead silence from the defense aggregate.

 

“Court is now in session.  Call your first witness.”

 

“The Federation calls Prosecution Witness Number One,” the Tellerite growled.

 

Kirk fairly danced up to the witness stand, winked at the judge, and gave the bailiff a slow, sexy smile.

 

“State your name for the record.”

 

“I’m Bright.  Bright Side.  And my partner is Dark Side.  But you can call him DS.”

 

Several defendants slumped in their chairs.

 

The defense attorney rose.  “Please instruct the witness to confine his answer to the question.”

 

The judge turned to Kirk.  “You may only answer the question, Mister Side, do not volunteer additional information.”

 

Those long, long, eyelashes brushed Kirk’s cheek as he blinked slowly.  “Just Bright, Your Honor.  I’m Bright.”

 

Judge Uhura exhaled slowly in exasperation, and looked away.

 

The Tellerite walked up to the witness stand.  “Bright.  You partner with DS?”  He waved his hand at Spock, who studied his fingernails and looked bored.

 

Kirk giggled, just a little.  “Yes.  We’re … _partners_.”

 

“For what purpose?”

 

“Oh.  Business.  This and that.  Here and there.  Whatever we can find.”

 

“Illegal?”

 

Kirk shrugged, and finally winked at the prosecutor.  “Maybe.”

 

The judge was getting tired of the foolishness.  “Mister,” and she stopped and shook her head.  “Excuse me,  _Bright_ , answer the question.”

 

“Sometimes we do jobs that are illegal.  It depends on the money.”

 

“What was your most recent encounter with any or all of the defendants?”

 

“DS and I contracted with an employment agency to pick up a shipment arriving at Spacedock from Yusria.”  When he said, “employment agency,” he made air quotes with his fingers.

 

“And what was this shipment?”

 

“Two refugees.  Kids.”

 

“Do you know the ultimate destination for the two children?”

 

“They were being acquired by a private buyer.”

 

The Tellerite turned to glare at the defense table.  “For what purpose?”

 

Kirk smiled the big smile, and flashed his best airhead expression.  “I just do the job I’m paid to do!”

 

Standing in front of the prosecutor table and facing Kirk directly, the Tellerite stated, “Your name is not Bright Side, is it?”

 

“No.  I’m actually brighter than I look.”

 

Judge Uhura bent down and found something very interesting under her desk, as she covered a snort with a cough.

 

“Your Honor!  I object most vehemently at the outburst from the witness!”

 

Once she straightened her face, Uhura scowled at Kirk.  “Objection sustained.  Whoever you are, behave yourself.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.  I apologize, Your Honor.   No disrespect to the court intended.”

 

The Tellerite tried to resume decorum.  “What is your name, and your designation?”

 

“James T Kirk, Detective, Starfleet Investigation Division, I’m assigned here on Alpha Centauri.  I’m partnered with fellow investigator, Detective Spock, who is seated at the prosecutor’s table.” 

 

“Thank you, Mister Kirk.  What is this case about?”

 

“Spock and I had received information from many sources that there was an Orion slave ring operating from Alpha Centauri.”

 

“Thank you, Mister Kirk.  That will be all for now.”

 

Kirk’s entire demeanor had changed.  The way he held himself, the forthright manner he used when walking away from the witness stand, even the shape of his face as he went from flirty scatterbrain to assured professional.  He approached the court rail, nodded to Spock, and the two of them marched together out of the courtroom.  Moments later, they returned in full dress whites, and sat in the spectator section, behind the prosecutor.

 

The Tellerite explained, in detail, the charges being brought against the defendants.  He listed the evidence that would be presented, should there be a trial.  Two legal assistants brought in antigrav carts, loaded with boxes; one of them handed the prosecutor a large envelope bulging with data chips.

 

“I’d like to present the counsel for the defense with all the evidence which has been gathered against their clients.  We have hard copies as well as electronic copies, as required by law.”

 

Judge Uhura nodded.  “So be it.  Bailiff, direct the assistants to the defense table with their information.”

 

The antigravs were parked in front of the defendants, and the bailiff handed the overfilled envelope to the defense attorney.   Every single accused was cringing at the mere volume of evidence.

 

“Trial is set for six months from now, the court recorder will consult the calendar and put this case on the docket.  And Counsel for the Defense?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor?”

 

“Talk to your clients.  Explain very carefully to them the options they have other than a trial.”  She focused on the huge pile of boxes.  “These charges, one of which is murder, and many of which are trafficking in the sale of sentient beings, carry horrendous penalties.”

 

The attorney actually bowed to the bench.  “I understand, Your Honor.  I will certainly do my best.”

 

The gavel rapped loudly twice.  “Court dismissed.”

 

In the hallway, Kirk nudged Spock’s shoulder with his own.   “Let’s walk around in the park across from the courthouse.  I need some fresh air.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

The tension seemed to bleed from both as they transitioned from almost a marching cadence to a casual stroll.  “I hope they work something out.”

 

Spock nodded.  “It would certainly be most fortuitous for all concerned.”

 

Kirk huffed out a short laugh.  “I think I pissed off the judge.”

 

“Nyota Uhura is a very stringent taskmaster.  She does not appreciate any violation to her decorum.”

 

“I know, and I’m sorry, but the straight line was just too hard to resist.  That Bright persona makes me somewhat…sassy.”

 

Spock raised an eyebrow, and the very corner of his mouth twitched upward.  They walked a little further.

 

“Jim, would you be amenable to seeing each other socially, outside of the work environment?”

 

“Spock!”  Kirk stopped walking, and looked at his associate with a frown of concentration.  “Are you asking me for a … _date_?”

 

Spock faced Kirk, and raised an eyebrow in response.  “Indeed.”

 

The reply generated a genuine smile on Kirk’s face.  “Actually, I’ve thought of asking you the same thing.”

 

Both Vulcan eyebrows went up to meet bangs.

 

“I will admit, all the running around we’ve had to do for this case has worn me out.  I propose we ‘stay in.’  I’ve got that mongo home theater center, and a rather extensive collection of holovids.  And I’ve been dying to expose you to mid-twentieth century science fiction.”

 

“Fascinating.”

 

Kirk laughed, and elbowed his friend.  “Bring over some Chinese take-out, and we can watch “Forbidden Planet” together tonight!”

 

“1900 hours?”

 

“Perfect!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes "Investigate." I have two more K/S AU Alpha Centauri detective stories, where Kirk and Spock's relationship fully develops.
> 
> "Death by Chocolate" ice cream sundaes as you leave--IF you still have room after T-day celebrations!

**Author's Note:**

> Well? Collect your chocolate on your way out the door, and PLEASE let me know how I did!!


End file.
